some of my favorite poems.<\/p>\n
Don’t Ask Me My heart is worn out Don’t ask me. Nobody else knew either, So let them go ahead and load me down, So that’s how things are with me, boy, So, about what I remember let them put a hand here on my vest ….<\/p>\n The Second Coming Turning and turning in the widening gyre Surely some revelation is at hand; some of my favorite poems. Don’t Ask Me by Pablo Neruda (tr. R Hoffman) My heart is worn out with knowing so many things, as if I were lugging rocks… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-786","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.loafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/786","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.loafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.loafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.loafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.loafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=786"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/www.loafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/786\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1671,"href":"https:\/\/www.loafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/786\/revisions\/1671"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.loafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=786"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nby Pablo Neruda (tr. R Hoffman)<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nwith knowing so many things,
\nas if I were lugging rocks
\nof different sizes in a sack,
\nor as if rain is falling
\nceaselessly in my memory.<\/p>\n
\nI don’t know what to say.
\nI have no idea what happened.<\/p>\n
\nso I kept going, in a fog,
\nconvincing myself that nothing had occurred,
\nlooking for fruit in the streets,
\nideas in the fields,
\nand I came to the conclusion
\neveryone was right,
\nI have been asleep too long.<\/p>\n
\nnot only rocks this time but shadows, too,
\nand not only shadows but blood.<\/p>\n
\nbut they’re also not like that at all
\nbecause, in spite of everything, I’m alive,
\nmy health is excellent,
\nboth my fingernails and my soul are still growing,
\nI come and go across frontiers,
\nmake claims, take readings, get my bearings.
\nIf they want to know more,
\nI get confused about where I’ve been,
\nBut if they think they hear grief’s howl
\nAround my house, they’re wrong.
\nLove is clear weather,
\nWeeping is time wasted.<\/p>\n
\nand about what I don’t,
\nabout what I know and used to know,
\nand all I’ve forgotten
\nof what is by now long gone,
\nabout the dead, who never heard from me,
\nand wanted, maybe, to see me,
\nthey had best not ask. Instead<\/p>\n
\nand they’ll feel me trembling,
\na big sack of heavy rocks.<\/p>\n
\nby william butler yeats<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nThe falcon cannot hear the falconer;
\nThings fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
\nMere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
\nThe blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
\nThe ceremony of innocence is drowned;
\nThe best lack all conviction, while the worst
\nAre full of passionate intensity.<\/p>\n
\nSurely the Second Coming is at hand.
\nThe Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
\nWhen a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
\nTroubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
\nA shape with lion body and the head of a man,
\nA gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
\nIs moving its slow thighs, while all about it
\nWind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
\nThe darkness drops again but now I know
\nThat twenty centuries of stony sleep
\nWere vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
\nAnd what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
\nSlouches towards Bethlehem to be born?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"